


Jelly & Uncomfortable Silences

by rushie



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: F/M, HER Interactive, Nancy Drew Mysteries - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rushie/pseuds/rushie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Hardy has decided to “grow up,” and for Frank, that means getting an MBA. He’s enrolled in the Wharton Business School at the University of Pennsylvania, and he seems determined to forget about being a detective. But when a professor goes missing, Frank can’t help but be curious. He can’t devote all of his time to the case while he’s trying to maintain his grades, and so he calls the one person he thinks will be able to help him, despite the fact that they haven’t spoken in several months and he’s been trying (and failing) to get her out of his head.</p><p>(au in which Frank and Nancy are actually twenty because it's like super unrealistic that they're still eighteen at this point)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize that this chapter is basically exposition (and kind of crappy). I promise the rest will be better, and I'll try to update (somewhat) regularly, but that might be difficult while I'm juggling my thesis and other college things. So bear with me!

It had been six months. Six months since Frank Hardy had left that babbling message on Nancy Drew’s voicemail. Six months without hearing from her. Six months since he had quit ATAC (at twenty, he wasn’t _exactly_ a teen anymore, anyway) and decided that it was time he did something else with his life.

Joe had tried to talk him out of it right up until the day he had moved into Rodin College House at the University of Pennsylvania. Had tried to talk him out of it a week after classes had started, saying it wasn’t too late to back out and come home and pick up his old life.

But it was too late for Frank.

It was too late, because he had turned a corner he had never wished to turn. He hadn’t meant to let all of it come out like it had, but he couldn’t help it. He’d thought Nancy was going to die, and his desperation had led him to reveal more than he had ever told anyone aside from Joe. Joe had tried to do damage control, but Frank didn’t know if it had even worked. He hadn’t heard from Nancy since then, and it made him think that she’d heard the message and had decided that it would be easier to cut off conversation cold-turkey than it would be to try to talk about an awkward situation only to make it more awkward.

Because Frank knew that she would never pick him over Ned. He’d said at much to Joe, for the fiftieth time, when they’d talked on the phone two nights ago.

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you just call her? Even if she _did_ hear it, she’ll probably just—”

“Not say anything,” Frank finished. “Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks. I think it’s better this way.”

“I’m just saying that I don’t think it would be _so_ bad to—”

“Goodbye, Joe.”

Frank had felt bad hanging up on his brother, but it was a conversation that he didn’t want to have. Joe had accused him before that he was running away from everything that reminded him of Nancy and that stupid voicemail. Joe was right, of course, but that didn’t mean that Frank didn’t think it was a better idea than torturing himself. He needed to try to have a normal life. It would be good for him. No mysteries, just normal college stuff. For once, he wasn’t undercover, and it felt good to not have to lie. When kids asked where he had studied before, he told them that he’d gone to the university in Bayport and had just needed a change of scenery.

This was true, mostly, and he kept secrets but didn’t lie and it felt _good_ to not have to worry about blowing his cover. It was nice to be normal.

But when you’re the son of Fenton Hardy, and you’ve spent almost your whole life looking for and solving mysteries, it’s difficult to ignore it when one walks right into your home, so to speak. And this one was dancing naked in his living room.

_____________________________________

 

Frank didn’t normally pick up the _Daily Pennsylvanian_ when he left for class in the morning. He’d glance at the headline as he passed through the gate, but he wouldn’t stop to grab it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know what was going on, but he just didn’t have time on his way to class to worry about picking up a newspaper. He could read the _DP_ online when he actually had time.

That particular morning, however, as he slowed down to allow the gate sensor to register he was there, the headline caught his eye.

ARCHAEOLOGY PROFESSOR DISAPPEARS 

Frank’s hand twitched towards the stack of papers, and he was picking one up before he really knew what he was doing. The walk to Huntsman Hall was a short one, so he wasn’t finished the article when he slid into his desk for his lecture. He didn’t know the professor—he was in Wharton, and therefore not an archaeology major—but it still bothered him. Apparently the professor—Dr. Daniel Sherman—had been missing for over a week and had yet to email his students regarding his absences from class.

Frank stowed the paper in his backpack and pulled out his notebook as his professor began the lecture, but he couldn’t shake the article from his mind. He took notes automatically while he tried to fight the gnawing curiosity. This wasn’t his job anymore, but telling himself that didn’t seem to be working. He hurried back to his apartment after class, preparing to do some research.

He found several articles about the Dr. Sherman’s previous fieldwork, but he hadn’t been on a dig in several years, or so it seemed. Frank had little experience with archaeology. He knew whom he would normally call about this kind of thing—Nancy had spent that time in Egypt on that dig site—but he didn’t want to open that can of worms. Not unless he had to.

And he didn’t have to, of course. This wasn’t his job anymore.

Joe called him that night, memory of Frank hanging up on him completely forgotten.

“Did you see the _DP_ article about the missing archaeology prof?”

Frank sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. Joe stalked the _DP_ website as if he were a Penn student himself. Usually, it was amusing. Whenever Joe found something interesting, he’d call Frank and read a good chunk of the article to him over the phone, as if Frank hadn’t seen it already or as if Frank were incapable of reading it for himself.

“Yes,” he said. “I saw the article this morning.”

“Are you gonna look into it?” Joe’s tone said that he thought Frank should look into it, and Frank had to suppress a sigh.

“No.” He made sure he sounded firm. “I told you, I’m not doing that anymore. That’s why I’m here, remember? To _forget_ about this kind of thing?”

“Riiiiight.”

Frank’s face deadpanned at his brother’s tone. “I’m serious, Joe.”

“I know,” Joe singsonged. “But you know who _isn’t_ not doing that kind of thing anymore?”

Frank knew what Joe wanted him to say, and said the opposite. “You?”

Joe huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Frank. I’m talking about Nan—”

“I know you were talking about Nancy, and I’ve made it pretty clear that I _don’t_ want to talk about Nancy.”

“I’m not saying you should talk about her. I’m saying you should talk _to_ her. It can’t hurt, Frank. I’m sure her dad has a contact at the university.”

“Joe,” Frank said, gritting his teeth. “I. Am. Not. Getting. Involved.”

“Fine, fine,” Joe said airily. “Have it your way, Grumpy.” 

But despite what Frank had told Joe, he found himself looking up the Dr. Sherman’s office on the Penn Directory the next morning. He told himself that he wasn’t going to go—it was out of his way—but he picked up his lock pick kit on his way out.

 

 

Later that afternoon, as he stood in the ransacked ruin of what had once been the missing professor’s office, he found himself wondering if going to college had been such a good idea after all. Maybe he should have quarantined himself in a hut in the middle of nowhere. Alaska sounded like a good idea. But now that he was here and—he hated admitting it to himself— _investigating_ , he knew there was no turning back now.

He poked around the office, looking for anything that could give him a clue to what the person was looking for, but Frank knew so little about archaeology that it was embarrassing. He stared at a book on the floor, open to a picture of hieroglyphs, and felt something like lead settle in his stomach. Joe had been right. He usually was, infuriatingly. Frank knew he should get out of there soon, before someone caught him snooping and thought he was up to something. Which, of course, he _was_ , but not what someone would think he was up to. But if he didn’t do it now, he knew he would chicken out and let this bother him for the rest of his life. He sighed and slid his phone out of his pocket. His hands were shaking too badly to allow him to scroll through his contacts properly, so he pushed the voice control button on the side.

“Call Nancy Drew.”


	2. Chapter 2

Nancy arrived a week later.

Frank hadn’t intended to meet her at the airport. He had told himself that she could get to campus just fine—there was a Regional Rail train that went from the airport to University City. She could even take a cab if she wanted to. She definitely didn’t need Frank to go pick her up and accompany her back to campus, especially not when he was trying so hard to make this purely a business meeting and not a friendly one. He wasn’t sure he could handle that.

And yet here he was.

He stood an appropriate distance away from the doors at Terminal D, waiting to see Nancy’s red hair bobbing behind someone. He stood with several significant others and host families for foreign exchange students. These latter all had signs with their respective student’s name printed on them in big, block letters. The significant others—that was what Frank assumed they were, anyway; they all had that look that was a mixture of nervous and excited that anxious lovers often had—milled around in a group, making sympathetic faces at each other. One guy gave Frank a half-smile and a shrug, as if they were experiencing the same thing. Frank thought his situation was too complicated to even try to explain, so he half-smiled back and stuffed his hands in his pockets for something to do with them.

A guy about Frank’s age strolled through the doors and looked around for a second. Just as the guy’s face broke into a huge grin, Frank saw a girl who had been waiting around launch herself across the terminal. She and the guy met each other in a laughing tangle of arms and smiles and tears. Frank felt himself smile as he watched them kiss—not one of those sloppy public make-out kisses, but just a quick kiss, appropriate for public, but one that showed Frank just how much they had missed each other.

That’s when he saw Nancy.

She was skirting around the happily reunited couple, wheeling her carryon suitcase behind her. She smiled when she saw Frank and headed over to him. Frank felt like he might throw up. At least he wasn’t carrying one of those signs with her name on it.

“Frank Hardy,” she said when she reached him.

The way she smiled at him made Frank feel too many things at once. “Hi, Nan,” he said. He reached for her carryon, and she wheeled it out of his reach.

“I have a bigger suitcase coming in baggage claim if you want to feel chivalrous. This one I can carry myself, thank you.”

Frank rolled his eyes and fell into step beside her as they headed toward the escalator for baggage claim. He tried to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t acting like anything was different between them. But Frank didn’t know what that meant. Had she heard his message after all and was simply choosing to act like nothing had changed because, for her, nothing had? Or had she actually not heard it? Frank didn’t even know which he’d prefer at this point.

They stood in comfortable silence while they waited for Nancy’s bag. She pointed it out to him when it slid onto the belt, and he stepped forward to drag it off and onto the floor. They made small talk in the cab.

“So Bess told me that Joe’s taken to hiking?” Nancy asked.

Frank smirked, unable to stop the image of Joe in his cargo shorts and hiking boots from popping into his head. “Yeah, you know Joe. He gets it into his head that he wants to do something…” He shrugged. “He keeps telling me it’s a good _solo_ activity, as if it’s _my_ fault that he’s hiking now.”

Nancy was quiet for a moment. “So Penn, huh? I was surprised when my dad told me you’d left ATAC.”

“Yeah, well… I’m not really a teen anymore, anyway.” It sounded so lame when he said it out loud. He wanted to bang his head against the cab window. “I just thought that maybe it was time for a change.”

“Did something happen?”

Frank did his best to keep his face impassive. “No,” he murmured. “No, nothing happened at all.”

* * *

 

Frank dropped Nancy off at her dorm. Joe had been right; her dad had a contact at the university that was allowing her to pose as a student in the hopes that she could figure out anything about the professor’s disappearance. While she got settled in, he returned to his own apartment to do his homework, which was easier said than done. His homework was always hard—and there was always plenty of it that needed doing—but he was distracted.

He knew there was no reason that he had to see Nancy more than was considered polite. He actually had schoolwork to do, whereas she was only posing as a student. She was the one solving the mystery, and he was just the person who had called her. He was done with that now. He didn’t have time to do any of that. He would endure lunches with her, would sit across the table from her and smile painfully and pretend everything was fine, but he didn’t have to investigate with her. He didn’t have to go there. That was, admittedly, a relief.

When Joe called that night to ask how seeing Nancy had gone, Frank told him the truth.

“It was fine.”

“Fine,” Joe repeated, as if he’d never heard the word before.

“Yes, Joe. _Fine_. I got her to campus and helped her get her stuff into her apartment and then I went home. The case is in her hands now. I’m going back to not doing that anymore.”

“Of course you are,” Joe said, unconvinced.

Frank frowned. “Yeah, well. Talked to _Bess_ lately?”

It was a cheap shot, and Frank hated himself for it. Joe, being Joe, didn’t notice the jab and sighed dramatically. “I keep asking her to go hiking with me, but she just doesn’t want to! ‘It’s just walking, Joe,’” he mimicked, and Frank felt himself smiling despite himself. Joe’s impressions were always spot-on. “I mean, it’s so much _more_ than that. I even talked _Ned_ into going with me—Oh.”

 _Oh_ indeed. Ned was a topic that Frank and Joe had tried to avoid since the incident on the submarine. It didn’t help that Frank was friends with both Nancy and Ned on Facebook; their happy pictures kept popping up on his Newsfeed when he least expected it. It made him want to put his fist through the computer, both because he was so frustratingly powerless and also because he hated himself for being so jealous of Ned.

“It’s fine,” Frank said. It wasn’t, and Joe knew it, but Frank thought it was better if they pretended that it was. Wasn’t that what he was all about these days? “Anything interesting on the _DP_ website today?”

Joe launched into an angry diatribe about one of the weekly columnists that Frank barely heard. He focused on his problem set, getting lost in the numbers and the background noise of Joe’s voice, which Frank was used to having as background to his work. By the time Joe had finished ranting, Frank had done several problems and was back in an academic mindset, thoughts of redhead girls and missing professors mostly out of his mind.

When Joe hung up, though, he said, “Have fun solving your mystery!”

“I’m not getting involved!” Frank retorted, even though he knew as it said it that Joe was in the process of hanging up on him.

But when someone knocked on the door of his apartment an hour and a half later and he opened it to find Nancy standing outside, computer in hand and a smile on her face, Frank knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone. Not even himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say I like this chapter a lot better than the last. As always, let me know what you think, and I hope all of you who are playing SPY right now are enjoying the heck out of it!


	3. Chapter 3

The word “midterm” was, as far as Penn was concerned, the grossest misnomer Frank had ever heard. Then again, he supposed “whenever-the-hell-we-feel-like-giving-you-an-exam-terms” was too long of a name. It didn’t change the fact that he had barely been at school at month and he was already spending a good chunk of his free time holed up in Huntsman Hall, occupying whatever GSR he’d managed to wrangle for an hour and a half. He had a headache, and he was drinking coffee like it was going out of style. Frank thought he might prefer fleeing for his life than studying for midterms.

Someone knocked on the GSR window, and he looked up, half expecting to see Nancy. She had been popping up at the most random times, wanting to discuss the case. No matter how many times he told her that he had homework to do, or exams to study for, or that he _just wasn’t doing that anymore_ , she kept coming back. He had admired her persistence—it was one of the things that attracted him to her—but now it getting a bit annoying. He just wanted to _forget_ about all of that, at least for a little while. He didn’t need memories popping up when he was trying to study for exams.

He already had an excuse prepared on his lips, saying he couldn’t talk about the case right now, when he saw that it wasn’t Nancy at all. It was Danny, his roommate. Danny was short and barrel-chested, with thick arms and close-cut dark hair. He grinned at Frank as he poked his head in the door.

“Hey, how’s studying going?” Danny was a cinema studies major, and he enjoyed ribbing Frank—albeit good-naturedly—about his business pursuits.

Frank grimaced. “Don’t ask. What are you doing in here?” Danny typically avoided Huntsman Hall as if it were diseased.

“Looking for you.” He slipped inside and plopped himself down across from Frank. “I tried giving you a call, but your phone is off or something.”

Frank glanced at his phone a little guiltily. He had shut it off to avoid dodging calls from Nancy. “Yeah, sorry. It, uh, it died and I forgot to bring my charger.”

Danny shrugged. “Well, whatever, I found you. Point is, that girl was at our apartment again, looking for you.” He raised his eyebrows. “You trying to hide from a one-night stand or something? ‘Cause really, Bayside, you don’t seem like the type.”

“Bayport,” Frank corrected automatically; Danny waved a flippant hand. “And no, that’s not it. She’s…” He frowned, tried to think about how to finish that sentence. “Our families are friends, and she’s studying here for a semester. I guess she’s just happy to have a familiar face around.” He stopped himself from saying, _She’s a little socially awkward_. He didn’t want people thinking poorly of Nancy.

“Well, point is, she’s hanging out in the apartment. I felt bad telling her I’d try to find out where you were and then asking here to leave.”

Frank closed his eyes and passed a hand over his face. Of course Danny had let her wait in their apartment. He could see her, sitting on their dorm-issued couch, looking around their small two-bedroom. She’d probably brought her case notes with her and had already made herself at home. Frank thought he might cry from frustration.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling through his nose. “Okay. Let me get my stuff and I’ll head back home.”

He should have known better than to think that he could hide from Nancy. He knew her better than almost anyone. And besides, _he_ had called _her_ , after all, which made this whole mess his fault. These days, Frank was nothing if not a masochist.

When they arrived back at their room and Frank unlocked the door, they found Nancy exactly at Frank had pictured her—curled up on their couch with her notes scattered around her. She looked up when they entered and flashed them a smile.

“There you are,” she said.

“Here I am,” Frank replied, lamely.

Danny flashed him a wink before he disappeared into his bedroom, and Frank felt the urge to strangle him. He put his bag down on the floor and tried to clear a space for himself on the couch.

“Hard at work, I see.”

Nancy nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been trying. I managed to talk my way into the professor’s office today.” She shuffled some papers together. “I didn’t interrupt your studying, did I?” she asked, eyeing Frank’s book bag.

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Did you find anything?”

Nancy made a face. “Well, kind of. See—” Her phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket to look at it. She glanced up at Frank. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I just—?”

He shook his head. “No, go ahead. You can talk in my bedroom if you want more privacy.”

As he gestured to his bedroom door, he thought about the state of it. His bed was unmade and he was pretty sure that there were at least six empty disposable coffee cups littering his desk. He belatedly hoped he had at least remembered to throw all of his dirty clothes inside his hamper. He’d been in a rush to get out and get studying that morning; it was so much easier to study outside of the apartment, where Danny was usually watching a movie for one of his classes.

Nancy nodded, and answered as she stood up off the couch and made her way to Frank’s room. She shut the door, leaving him alone in the living room. He fiddled with his backpack for a few moments before reaching for the notes she had left on the couch. He leafed through them. She’d apparently taken a careful inventory of _everything_ in the professor’s office. Frank let out a low whistle as he flipped over the page to see the rest of the list. Some artifacts, a lot of books, some photographs, a class list… There was also a picture of some hieroglyphics. He wondered if Nancy had any contacts from her time in Egypt who could translate them.

 After he had this thought, the door to his room opened and Nancy emerged, looking perturbed. Frank paled. Had he left a pair of dirty boxers on the floor? But as Nancy sat down, he didn’t think it had anything to do with his laundry. She looked upset, and Frank frowned.

“Nan? Is everything all right?”

She looked over at him and forced a smile that looked to Frank like it hurt. “Oh, yeah, sure.” Frank opened his mouth again, but Nancy cut him off by saying, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Nancy didn’t seem to want to talk about much of anything after that, even when Frank tried to engage her in conversation about her case notes. Eventually he just left her to her thoughts and went back to his studying, but he could always see her out of the corner of his eye, sitting there. Her notes were in her lap, and she flipped through them occasionally, but Frank couldn’t tell if she was really thinking about them or if it was just something for her to do.

“So,” Frank tried, when he was tired of sitting in uncomfortable silence. “I saw you made an inventory of the office. Um.” He cleared his throat. “Was there anything that looked like it shouldn’t be there?”

Nancy was frowning, but he wasn’t sure if it was because she was still upset or she was remembering. “Nothing that I wouldn’t expect an archaeologist to have, really.” She sighed. “I photocopied one of the photos of hieroglyphics that he had, but they could have just been from an old dig or something. He could have been planning to use them for class.”

“Did he have anything else?”

She shrugged. “Just some articles that were relevant to his field. You know, discovery of the tomb of the Lost Queen—” she smiled a little, and Frank felt himself smile watching her “—that new tomb they think they found that everyone is talking about.” Frank nodded as if he knew, even though he had no idea. “Just archaeology stuff.”

“Well,” Frank said, trying to be cheerful, “you tried.” He returned to his notes for a moment, then looked back at her. “Did he leave any phone numbers lying around or anything?”

She shook her head. “Not that I could see, but I was trying not to get caught. I could probably get back in there if I tried.” She looked at him sideways. “But it might go faster with two sets of hands…”

Frank sighed and held up his hands, defeated. “Okay, _okay_. I finish class tomorrow at three. We can go after that.”

Nancy beamed, reveling in her victory, and Frank just laughed and shook his head. He was, at least, glad that he had been able to pull her from the strange mood she had been in when she’d gotten off the phone. She stayed for a little longer, and they talked about Frank’s impending midterms and how they planned to sneak into the office the next day. They reminisced about past cases, and Nancy told funny stories about Togo, her dog. They talked about their friends. They talked about Penn. They talked about River Heights and Bayport. But they didn’t talk about why Frank had decided to leave ATAC or run away to Pennsylvania for college.

And they didn’t talk about phone calls.


	4. Chapter 4

_Meet you in your lobby in 10?_

Frank looked at the text message as he swung his bag onto his shoulder. He checked it watch. 2:50. He wondered if Nancy had been sitting by her phone until she knew he would be finished with class. He chuckled, shook his head, and typed out a quick _Sure_ as he headed for the door. He knew he had promised to sneak into the teacher’s office with her, but he was starting to feel a little bit of trepidation. Nancy might have been undercover and trying to solve this disappearance, but Frank was an honest-to-God student, and if he were caught, he had no idea what kind of hell the university would rain down upon his head. He tried to push the thought from his mind.

He headed upstairs to his apartment to leave some of his class books behind. He planned to take his backpack, so he looked like he had a reason to be in the academic wing of the Penn Museum, but he didn’t need to cart around his textbook and notebook. He spotted his small detective notebook, a little Moleskine that Joe had bought him several years ago. He hesitated, then tossed it and his lockpick kit into his backpack, zipped the bag back up, and headed for the lobby. Nancy was waiting for him, sitting on one of the couches and clearly people-watching. Frank perched himself on the back of the couch she sat on, taking care to lean forward; he didn’t want to fall backwards onto the couch and make a fool out of himself in front of Nancy.

She smiled at him. “Ready to go?”

He nodded. “Sure.” As they exited the high rise, Frank raised an eyebrow. “So I’m curious—what are you doing with your time here while everyone’s at class?”

Nancy shrugged. “Exploring, mostly. I’ve never been to Philadelphia before.”

“Nan, _tell_ me you didn’t take the downtown colonial tour.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Frank Hardy, of _course_ I did!” Frank groaned, and she laughed. “What kind of a tourist would I be if I didn’t? And you—you’re already talking like a native, and you’ve only been here for, like, a month!”

Frank laughed. “Dad brought Joe and me here for that tour when we were in, like, the sixth grade or something. All I remember is the woman who was our tour guide was dressed in this _ridiculous_ costume. I kind of felt bad for her. Not to mention that it’s one of those things where they _can’t break character_. I mean, it was nice to see the historical places and all, but I could have done without the eighteenth-century reenactment.”

“I have to admit, I was kind of hoping it would be more like _National Treasure_.”

Frank snorted. “Sure, why don’t we just jump on a train to DC real fast and steal the Declaration of Independence?”

“You say that like we couldn’t do it,” Nancy replied.

Frank shook his head. “Look, I’m happy on _this_ side of the law, thank you very much. We bend them enough as it is to get our jobs done.”

He realized what he had said when Nancy smiled a secret, knowing smile. She didn’t say anything, but he knew she had heard it—the _our_ , the _we_. He wanted to kick himself. He wasn’t doing that anymore. At least, he _thought_ he wasn’t. But here he was, trekking all the way across campus to the inconveniently located Penn Museum, preparing to break into a teacher’s office. He felt a little bad and wondered how many times someone had broken into the office since the man’s disappearance.

“I didn’t get to look around the last time I was here,” Nancy said as they climbed the steps to the museum some twenty minutes later. Frank was sweaty and regretting the jacket he had decided to wear for the long walk. “It seems like there’s just so much interesting stuff.”

“There is,” Frank replied. They stepped up to the guard desk to swipe their PennCards for free student entrance. The guard said “welcome” in a deadpan tone and waved them through. “But I don’t think we really have time to stop and look around right now, etiher, you know?”

Nancy sighed. “Yeah, I know. It just kind of reminds me of my time at Beech Hill.”

“Well, let’s hope no one gets pushed down a pyramid this time, hmm?”

She laughed. “Tell me about it.”

Frank pushed open the door to the stairwell, and they climbed to the next floor. They walked through the café area, filled with students lingering to have a bite after their last class or older people, undoubtedly visitors, who had stopped to eat dinner in the café before heading home. They strolled through the hall and pushed through the doors to the academic wing. Frank led the way to the professor’s office, keeping an eye out for faculty walking the halls. Nancy produced her own lockpick kit, so Frank leaned against the wall and kept lookout while she worked.

“I’m in,” she whispered, and Frank gave the hallway one last glance before following her inside.

It was pretty much how he had seen it before—ransacked, papers shuffled, a potted plant tipped over so the dirt spilled on the ground. He pointed at the computer on the desk. “Did you try to get inside?”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t do me much good. It’s just the monitor.”

“What?” Frank walked over to the desk and peered below it. Sure enough, only the computer monitor and some wires remained. The computer itself was nowhere to be found. “Well. There goes that idea.”

“I’ll check over here,” Nancy said, waggling a hand in the vague direction of the bookshelf. “Would you mind giving the desk another look?”

Frank shrugged, pulling the desk chair over to himself and sitting down. He fished a pencil out of his backpack and poked around, taking care not to leave fingerprints. He found nothing useful in the drawers—just a stash of chocolate bars that Nancy eyed hungrily when he pointed them out—but there was a legal tablet on the desk. He squinted at it, turning his head sideways to see if there were any indentations. He hoped the professor had written hard enough where they could get something off of it. Then again, it could turn out to be just lecture notes.

He ran his pencil over the legal tablet to make the indentations left by the professor’s pen stand out. What he appeared to have was a collection of notes that made no sense at all to him. There were names of places and dates, and there were lines drawn between different ones. One in particular had been circled several times; the groove was so deep that Frank didn’t even need to scribble over it to notice it. And, at the very bottom of the page, there was a phone number. Carefully, he ripped the page from the legal tablet and folded it up, putting it into his backpack.

“Find something?” Nancy asked.

He nodded, getting up from the desk and going over to see what she was doing at the bookshelf. “Yeah. Did you?”

“No, I think it’s a bust— _whoa_.”

_Whoa_ was a good word. Nancy had opened a hollowed-out old book to reveal a small treasure of newspaper and magazine clippings. Frank’s brow furrowed as he looked at them all.

“Why would he hide _newspaper clippings_?” he asked, frowning.

Nancy shook her head slowly. “I’m not sure. But look, some of them look like they have things circled.” She flipped through. “I think they all have to do with the same archaeological find…”

Frank looked up as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Nancy shoved the book at his chest, and he stuffed in into his backpack. They flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the door and breathed a sigh of relief when the footsteps passed. They glanced at each other.

“I think it’s time to go,” Frank said.

Nancy nodded. “Yeah. I’ll check if the coast is clear.”

She cracked open the door and peeked her head out. After a second, she waved her hand behind her. Frank followed her out and flipped the lock on the door before he closed it to lock it again.

When they reached Nancy’s dorm, Frank took out the book and the paper he had ripped off the legal tablet. He gave them to her. When she looked at him quizzically, he just said, “It’s your case, Nan.”

She nodded, smiled a little, and said she’d see him tomorrow. He nodded and headed back home. He tried to focus on studying. He had an exam the next day that he definitely did not want to fail. But his mind kept wandering, kept seeing that piece of paper on the legal tablet. The phone number swam before his eyes, and he sighed, running a hand over his face. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t his case. It was none of his business.

He was camped out at the kitchen table when Danny came home from a theater group meeting that night. He looked at the notes surrounding Frank’s workspace and let out a low whistle. “Exam tomorrow?” Frank nodded. “Good luck. Looks like you’re in a for a long night, Bayside.”

“Bayport,” Frank mumbled as Danny headed into his bedroom—probably to sleep, that jerk. He rubbed his eyes and the image of the circled date and place sprang into his head. “And you have no idea…”


	5. Chapter 5

Halloween was definitely not Frank’s favorite holiday. At college, however, everyone was into it. It was, as far as most people were concerned, an excuse to wear ridiculous clothing and drink a lot. There were also people who were taking the Halloween thing seriously, getting really into the costumes, and going out for the sake of showing them off. Frank was neither of these people. He had always just indulged Joe on Halloween, dressing up to be the other Spy in Joe’s Spy vs. Spy costume idea, or donning a black bodysuit to be the Venom to Joe’s Spiderman. But this year would be different. He planned to just sit on the couch, eat some candy that he had bought from the drugstore across the street, and watch the _Halloween_ marathon on AMC. He wasn’t in Bayport, and he had escaped Joe and his costume ideas for the first time ever. He could do Halloween _his_ way.

Or so he thought.

The weekend before Penn’s “Halloweekend”, Joe called. “I’m coming to visit you for Halloween,” he said.

Frank put his face in his free hand. “Joe, you’re really going to come all the way here for Halloween?”

“Of course I am! I want to see a college Halloween. Besides, Frank, if I know you, you’ll be sitting on the couch, eating candy and watching old horror movie marathons.” When Frank said nothing, Joe said, “Exactly. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Joe arrived as he usually did—which was to say, like a hurricane. When Frank went down to sign him in, he was already chatting with the girl working at the desk. He wasn’t flirting, as far as Frank could tell, just being Joe. The girl happily gave Frank a three-day pass, which he handed to Joe along with his driver’s license. Frank swiped back into the dorm while Joe chattered about a mile a minute.

“So I’ve already got this great idea for our costumes, Frank. I mean—I bought them already, because it’s _way_ too close to Halloween to even _think_ about trying to buy one now. Do you think Nancy will want to go with us? I wonder if she even has a costume. You’d think Nancy would have more disguises than she really does.”

Frank had already begun to tune Joe out by the time they got on the elevator. But when Frank was unlocked his apartment door, Joe asked, “So how’s the case coming?” and Frank almost dropped his keys.

He shouldered the door open. “You’d have to ask Nancy,” he replied.

Joe made a noise like a snore. “Yeah, right, Frank. You’re not fooling me.” He peeked over Frank’s shoulder at the living room. “Those are definitely case notes I see on your kitchen table.”

Frank glared at the offending notes as if it were their fault. “ _Fine_ , Joe. The case is going, but slowly. No idea what could have happened to the professor yet, but someone stole his computer.”

Joe whistled, dumping his duffel bag on the floor of Frank’s bedroom. “Man, wonder what the professor could have been mixed up in.” He went over to the table to leaf through some pages. “What about Nancy? I’m sure she has contacts who know about this kind of stuff.”

Frank shrugged. “Still waiting to hear back. I thought you were here for Halloween, anyway. Not to help us on the case.”

Joe rolled his eyes and plopped down on the couch. “Why can’t I do both?” He bounced experimentally. “This, by the way, is the most uncomfortable couch I’ve ever had the misfortune to sit on.”

“Have fun sleeping on it,” Frank replied. “So what’s your _big plan_ for our Halloween costumes, anyway?”

“Well—”

There was a knock at Frank’s door, and Frank heaved himself to his feet to answer. Predictably, there was Nancy, the reason Frank had stopped leaving the door unlocked when he was in the apartment. He didn’t doubt Nancy would just breeze in, and he liked giving himself time to gain composure before opening the door. She was carrying her laptop in her arms, and she started to say something, but stopped the minute she saw Joe.

“I didn’t know you were visiting!” She put down her laptop to give the younger Hardy a hug.

Joe grinned. “Yeah, well, _someone_ has to get Frank into the Halloween spirit.”

She looked between the two of them. “Oh, you guys are going to go out?”

Frank could only stand by helplessly while Joe nodded. “Yeah, of course! You should come with us, Nan. Do you have a costume?”

Nancy perched herself on the edge of the couch, nose wrinkled in a way that Frank knew meant she was thinking deeply. He watched her think, and he knew Joe was watching him watch her, but he didn’t care. He allowed himself the second of looking at her without worrying his expression betrayed anything; she was too deep in thought to notice either one of them.

“I might still have that catsuit from when I was in Venice…”

“It’s perfect!” Joe cried. “You can be Catwoman—Frank and I are going as Batman and Robin.”

“We are?”

* * *

 

Frank was in a deep state of indignity. Not only had Joe assumed the role of Batman, but he had insisted upon being _retro_ Batman and Robin, circa Adam West and Burt Ward. Which meant that Frank was wearing tights. In a nightclub. While Joe got to play Batman and people complimented him and Nancy on what a great couple’s costume they had. There was something so humiliating about being forced to play Robin to his younger brother while his younger brother played Batman and the girl he was in love with play Catwoman that Frank thought about crawling behind the bar and begging the bartender to let him die there. Frank would have forgiven Joe if he hadn’t insisted on the costume with tights. Frank would have even been more forgiving if they had skipped the Robin route and gone with Nightwing. But no. Here he was, in bright and obnoxious green tights, surrounded by people who went to his college, feeling very thankful that he was wearing a mask.

Nancy, of course, was radiant. Some of her hair escaped from the cat mask she had pulled over her head, and it flamed and fanned out wonderfully while she danced. Joe kept running into the problem of people stepping on his cape, but he was unflappable. Frank was trying to dance in a way that wouldn’t make the tights squeeze him to death.

Eventually, Joe thought he saw someone he recognized—how, Frank wasn’t sure, since the person in question was wearing a werewolf mask—and moved off to go talk to them. It left Frank and Nancy alone, and Frank became even more aware of his tights. God, _why_ had Joe had to be retro Batman and Robin?

“Frank, are you all right?” Nancy shouted over the music. Her voice was a little muffled by her mask.

Frank nodded. How could he tell her that he was only suffering one of the greatest indignities in his entire life?

He could tell Nancy was trying to get him to loosen up. At least, that’s what he hoped she was doing. She was doing something that looked like a combination of the scuba diver and her biting into an apple. If she was trying to make him laugh, though, it worked, and he felt himself relax. An oldies song came on, something Frank found he could actually dance to, and he held out his hand to Nancy. She took it, and while they were awkward at first, they soon fell into a rhythm that worked for them.

They danced through several songs, and at the end of one, Frank twirled Nancy to him and dipped her. She laughed, and Frank grinned at her. They stayed that way for a few beats longer than necessary, until Joe appeared beside them and Frank almost dropped her.

“Smooth moves, Frank. I didn’t know you could dance.”


End file.
